


Of Sunshine and Sutures

by Neebsandtatties



Category: Harvest Moon, Story of Seasons: Trio of Towns, 牧場物語つながる新天地 | Story of Seasons
Genre: Dancing, Drabble Collection, F/M, First Meetings, Freeform, Pre-Relationship, Slow Burn, Wingman Wayne
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2018-10-08 22:03:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10397169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neebsandtatties/pseuds/Neebsandtatties
Summary: *A bunch of drabbles and writings based around Ford & Holly in no particular order*





	1. Haphephobia

**Author's Note:**

> Trio of Towns hasn't been released in the UK yet so I'm working off of screen shots and playthroughs like a peasant-chan.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s a small thing really, removing his gloves. But it feels like a monumental effort.
> 
> *Inspired by in game dialogue*

It bothers immensely him that his hands are shaking. They aren’t supposed to. He’s a doctor; a surgeon with a razor precision that he’s carefully honed over many years.

But around Holly, he can’t help but tremble as she takes his hand. Her fingers run over the intricate seams of his gloves and his breath stutters out in response. Such is the power she has over him. He still cannot fathom it.

“Ford,” she murmurs, his name less of a word and more of a sound; a beautiful, breathless sound. “We don’t have to do this you know. I'm okay with the gloves, really.”

The old fear rises from an uncertain time when he was young and afraid, a flutter of panic. He has to fight it back down. He is not a child anymore living with his disaster of a mother. He’s a grown man, a doctor in a charming town. He’s safe, with Holly; who is sweet and kind and smells like sunshine. There’s no reason to fear anymore, no reason to be afraid.

“No,” Ford finds himself saying firmly, so she knows there's no room for disagreement. “We should. We must.” It’s a small thing really, removing his gloves. But it feels like a monumental effort. Effort he'll gladly expend for her. Holly is worth the discomfort. 

“Are you sure?”  Holly asks, as her fingers curl gently against the heart of his palm. He’s always wondered how those hands would have felt pressed bare against his own. Now he has a chance to find out.

Ford resists the urge to adjust his glasses out of nervous habit. “Yes, I’m quite sure.” He'll do this, for her as much as himself. He has to touch her. He _needs_ to. He fears he'll go mad otherwise.

Holly strokes over the invisible life lines, and even through his gloves he can feel her warmth. “Do you want me to?....”

“Please.” He doesn't think he could manage to peel his gloves away right now. He feels as if he’s about to faint, blood thumping loudly in his eardrums. It is just as well he’s sitting down or his legs might have given away.

Holly, with the patience of a saint, takes his right hand carefully. She tugs gently at the fabric on his index finger; slowly, cautiously as if giving him a chance to change his mind.

But Ford says nothing, simply nods lips pressed together in a thin, nervous line. She’s peeling away the last of his defences; the sterile, cold barrier he’s put between himself and the world. Though, he supposes she’s already done that. Holly has gleamed her way into his life, seeping light through the cracks in his defenses. He still doesn't understand what she does to him, but he cannot protest it.

“I’ve always liked your hands Ford,” Holly comments, gently working the gloves off one finger at a time as if she's  worried he was made of glass. _Forefinger. Middle. Pinky. Thumb._ “I would think of them a lot you know. They were very distracting.” There’s a shy little smile on her lips as she speaks and colour spreads on her cheeks that he now knows isn’t the result of a fever.

“G-Good,” is all he can manage to say as the fabric bunches at his wrist. His glove is almost all the way off; a pale brand of skin is visible between the lavender of his cuff and his wrist. Holly slips her digits into the cuff of his gloves, her fingertips brushing against the thudding pulse point at his wrist.

The touch is electrifying, startling and unexpected. He tries to stifle the gasp but a little noise escapes him; something almost close to a whine.

When was the last time someone touched him like that? 

Has anyone? 

She pauses immediately, her brows knitted with worry. “Are you okay? Do you need me to stop?”

Ford swallows. “No, please." There's a plea threaded through his voice, a longing he does not recognise.  “Please don’t.” 

Holly nods and gently, _gently_ removes his glove, exposing his hand. He hadn't realised he was so pale. His hands look as if they belong to a man who had never seen the sun.

But if he's honest, that wasn't far from the truth and it's embarrassing.

The panic comes rushing back tenfold. Ford instinctively jerks in her grasp, possessed with the sudden urge to rip his hand from her. Suddenly, he doesn't feel ready. 

 _Stop it,_ he tries to tell himself. _Don't be a fool. You're the one who wanted to do this._ "S-sorry," Ford stammers, feeling the heat of embarrassment flush up his neck. His tie feels unbearable tight. 

"It's alright. There isn't any rush," Holly replies, cradling his wrist in her palm. She could likely feel the tension coiled tight in his arm. "We'll take it slow."

_Slow._

He's spent his whole life going slow, taking his time to methodically weighing up each and every decision, puzzling out his answers whilst weighing up all the evidence available. It's what's made him a good doctor, a great researcher if he's willing to read critical reviews of his own studies.

But he doesn't want to be slow when it comes to Holly. "I'm alright now," Ford insists. 

"Okay... No, wait. Hang on." Holly releases his wrist and he watches as she quickly wipes her hand against her skirt. Her consideration for every one of his little quirks is deeply touching.

"There's, that's better." Holly holds her hand up for him, and there's an honest brightness in her expression. An honest brightness that is open and inviting, accepting and safe. 

His arm feels heavy, like the iron mined nearby, but he somehow, somehow draws his bare hand up to press the heel of his palm against hers.

The contact is wonderful. So wonderful he sighs with something close to relief as Holly spreads her fingers to line up against his own digits. She’s warm and small, so so small against his hand he can barely believe that her hands are capable of such amazing feats. His breath catches in his chest, an odd tightness there that might have worried him a few months ago.

Now he feels a rush of euphoria, sending gentle tingles through his spine. It's a foreign sensation and not unwelcome in the slightest. 

“Oh...Ah...uhm.” The extensive vocabulary fails him momentarily. His world has narrowed to Holly’s hand pressing against his own; from pulse to palm to prints. She is softer than he’d thought she would be. He had thought her palms would have been roughened after so much farm work; the pads of her fingers hard from tilting fields. He’d held her hand once, when she couldn’t sleep after a spell of exhaustion found her in his clinic. It had felt good then, even through the fabric of his gloves.

But this…he swallows the sudden lump in his throat. This was infinitely better. 

Holly keeps her palm steady against his. "You're doing great Ford."

Ford tries to say something, anything but he can’t find the words. He just stares; marvelling at this little innocent, understanding gesture that means more than he can comprehend. "I.. Uh. T-Thank you."

The smile she wears is worth the rattle in his usually steady hands. There's sunshine in her eyes, in the gold of her hair. There's no one in recent memory who has ever looked at him like that. “You’ve got such handsome hands Ford," Holly says. "Can't believe you've been hiding them from me."

He shivers, despite the warmth of the late afternoon sun. "Doctors prerogative," he manages. 

"I'm so proud of you. I know how hard this has been," Holly states, her voice like a warm kiss; the sort of kiss she presses between his brows to smooth the weight of the day away

“Holly...you... I-” Ford tries to form a coherent sentence and feels immediately frustrated. He wants her to understand how much this means to him, how much she means to him. His words just seem to stumble over each other and he’s suddenly feeling clumsy, childish, frustrated. Why is this so hard? It shouldn't be. It wouldn't be to someone as silver tongued as Wayne.

But blessedly, Holly does not seem to require impossible words from him. She reads the lines of worry on his face instead, sees the tight anxiety in his features.“It’s okay,” she says, and it sounds as if she means it. Her fingers laced between his, curling down to press her fingertips against his bare knuckles. “I know.”

Ford mimics the movement and he’s rewarded by a happy exhale from Holly like he's just done something inexplicably wonderful instead of merely stroking her knuckles.   _I could do this all day,_  he thinks blissfully. I _really could_.  

He hopes, maybe foolishly, that she could as well.


	2. Saltationis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When he catches hand to twirl her around again, Holly imagines he squeezes back. Or maybe it’s the music talking
> 
> *Pre-relationship Ford & Holly at the Goddess Festival. Inspired by harvestmooncrazyfan's videos*

Holly wishes she hadn't had that extra of slice of pizza. She feels in heavy in the pit of her stomach; mixing with the unease, curling tight into a ball that makes her feel as if she's about to vomit.  But she's determined to ask for a dance at the Goddess Festival from the solitary Doctor of Westown. Her rehearsals won't go to waste. 

“Doctor Ford, would you dance with me?" It takes a lot of effort to keep her voice from trembling. 

Doctor Ford blinks, looking startled as a barn owl. Had he not been expecting anyone to ask? The thought makes her sad. He looks nice to dance with; tall but lithe with strong shoulders. “You wish to dance with me?” he asks, sounding curious.

“Yeah.” Holly pushes back a lock of blonde hair, needing to do something, anything with her hands. She knows how he feels about unnecessary fidgeting.

Doctor Ford gives her a sceptical glance, eyebrow arched. “You’re quite the strange one for inquiring about a dance.”

It almost sounds like compliment. She wants it to be, but it’s hard to tell. He gives almost nothing away but she’s drawn into to the encompassing enigma that is Doctor Ford; the stone-faced, sharp eyed physician of Westown that once called her "passable". 

But he’s not so bad. Not really. Holly’s seen his tenderness in his work; the careful consideration for his patient's health even when he’s irritated with them. His concern is edged and abrasive, but it's genuine. He lectures but it's from a good place. She’s had a lecture or two from him since moving to Bojack Farm and oddly, she’s never minded.

“Would you like to?” Holly asks, and never has such a small request felt so difficult to make. 

There’s a soft sound of his breath exhaling even over the chatter of the other townsfolk. “I’m…not what you would call a good dancer,” Doctor Ford replies, a faintest hint of apprehension in his voice.

“You don’t have to be,” Holly explains quickly. Heat flushes up her neck, and her palms feel instantly sweaty. She’s sure that she looks like a tomato growing in her fields; shiny and red. “But if you’d rather not, I’d understand.”

“No, I don’t mind. I respectfully accept.” His expression softens, and she can see a crack in the crystal. It’s encouraging. “But, you’ll have to forgive my clumsiness. I very seldom dance.”

Holly smiles fondly. Always so formal. It's utterly endearing in a town that drawls.  “It’s okay. I don’t know the steps very well either. We’ll be clumsy together,” she states brightly.

Another crack. Doctor Ford smiles; a whisper of smile like the one Lisette once described. He holds out a gloved hand to her. “I’ll be glad to accompany you onto the dance floor then.”

“Thank you.” Holly brushes her palm briefly against the denim of her skirt – conscious of his little peculiarity about sweat - then takes his hand. “Let’s hope the Goddess doesn’t get too offended with our poor dancing." But Holly doesn’t think that the little Goddess has it in her to get offended with anyone.

Doctor Ford chuckles slightly, a sparing sound as his fingers enclose around hers firmly but professionally. “She’s welcome to submit a complaint if she is." 

Holly giggles as she leads him towards the dance floor. She can’t help it. He’s witty, in his own way; the kind of clever that keeps her on her toes. “If my crops fail this year it’s your fault.”

He gives her that level gaze that always makes her want to straighten her posture for some reason. “I have seen your produce. Your crops grow because of your own hard work and diligence, not because of a fairy tale.”

It’s a compliment definitely and Holly feels her cheeks flush again. “I…T-Thank you Doctor. That means a lot, coming from you.”

“There’s no need to thank me. It’s merely an observation.” But there it is again, another hint of a smile, and it occurs to her that he really is quite handsome when he smiles.

 _He’s wonderful_ she thinks with equal parts fascination, affection and dismay. 

As they settle into place on the dance floor, she’s conscious of the curious chatter of Colin and Noel, the amused smirks of Brad and Wayne, Lisette’s excited little whispering to Carrie.

And Doctor Ford is aware of it too, judging from the stiff, hard expression on his face. The tightness of his angular jaw.  He looks as if he’d rather be anywhere else.

“We’re all here to have fun, don’t worry about it,” Holly says, trying hard to reassure him. “But it’s not too late if you’d rather sit this one out.”

“No.” He offers her his left hand and she notices that it's shaking slightly. “It would be rude to leave you out on the dance floor on your own after accepting your offer.”

Holly presses his palm into his and it’s impossible not to notice how nice Doctor Ford’s hands really are even clad in gloves. They’re elegant doctors’ hands; steady, strong, sure with a scalpel. No wonder some of the girls in Westown are crazy for him. It’s hard to focus on anything except those talented hands. “Okay, if you’re sure.”

He nods firmly. “I am.”

The music starts, and it quiets her nerves. Immediately, a current of energy moves through her with the beat of the music and Holly falls into step with her partner. 

It takes effort to coordinate her feet and spin without breaking something in the process. Her cowboy boots - plated with steel on the toes – suddenly didn’t seem like a good idea. _At least if I break his toe, he can treat himself_ she thinks to herself.

But it’s a mean thought, really, considering how hard he’s trying. Ford’s brow his furrowed with lines of concentration, his hands never straying from where they need to be.

And despite his awkwardness, despite his protests, despite his apparent unease, he’s not a terrible dancer. He seems to know the steps better than she does, and it’s a relief to let him lead. 

The melody continues to coil around them, leading with some unspoken, veiled force. Tension melts away, like candle wax against a naked flame. Suddenly, it feels easy to spin and pivot on her heels even in heavy shoes. It’s nothing to spin and twirl with Doctor Ford.

She chances a glance at his face and it’s pleasing to see that his expression has softened. He looks like he's almost enjoying himself.

The music makes her feel brave and Holly finds herself squeezing his hand.

When he catches hand to twirl her around again, Holly imagines he squeezes back. Or maybe it’s the music talking. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t care. But it's a lovely thought. 

As the rhythm continues to flow, the taps of her heels matches the beat of her heart. She feels in tune with the people around her. She can hear Lisette’s crisp, happy laughter, Carrie’s joyful giggles, the loud jubilance of her uncle Frank, the enthusiastic clapping of Brad, Wayne’s spurs jingling as he dances with a giggling Noel The townsfolk are brimming with life and happiness.

To have friends, real friends that she doesn’t have to part with because of her father’s work. As the brass flutes whistle their crescendo, she feels a culmination of inexplicable affection for these people, for their habits and traditions. They could be hers to keep. _This could be my home,_ she thinks. _This really could be._

The music starts the wind down, signalling the near end of their dance. But there's still a few steps left. Holly tilts her chin up to look at her partner; to thank him for being such a wonderful dancer despite his initial misgivings.

But her rapidly beating heart leaps high into her throat when she does.

Doctor Ford is smiling, really smiling. The gesture brightens up his entire face, smooths away with years between his brow, softens his sharp features, make his eyes glow in a way that causes a heat that Holly doesn't understand to warm beneath her skin. She’d always thought his eyes were as hard and grey as stone, like he was at times.

But here, so close she can see the soft flecks of purple and shards of lilac in his irises; the colour of the sprigs of lavender that grows in the between the mountain outcrops. 

_I could wake up to a man with eyes like that every day._

And maybe that’s what causes her to falter. The unbidden, unwanted, unnecessary thought that makes everything impossibly complicated

Like coordinating her own feet.

Holly falls out of synch with the music and she collides with Doctor Ford with a crunch. She hears him hiss in pain as she stands on his toe,  but his hands are immediately on her shoulders to steady her. They are a solid, welcomed weight and it's impossible not to imagine how they would feel on her bare skin. She's hopelessly breathless at the thought. 

Just as quickly as Ford's hands come, they leave again. This time, they settle on beneath her jaw, tilting her chin up so he can look her in the eye properly. She’s suddenly afraid to let him see what might linger there.

“Holly? Are you alright? Do you feel faint?” Doctor Ford asks, immediately searching her face for signs of illness. How perfect his gloved hand are against her cheeks; cool against her flushed skin. It takes every ounce of her strength not to sigh in pleasure. 

“I-I’m fine.” To her mild horror, her voice is shaking again. “Must just be this heat that’s all. I’m still getting used to this weather.”

“Your pupils are dilated,” he states. “Let’s get you out of the sun so I can examine you properly.”

“I’m fine really,” Holly insists, afraid he’ll take her pulse and feel how it sings his name.

Doctor Ford pushes his glasses up his nose, looking as serious as ever. As if he hadn’t just been smiling at her. He's professional again, her doctor instead of her dance partner.  “I’ll be the judge of that." His hand cups her elbow and it's a disappointing substitute. "It will be that pizza. All that excess salt has likely dehydrated you."

Holly sighs, reaching up to adjust her hat. The lie is easier to swallow than a greasy pizza. "Yeah, that's probably it."

 She wishes she could tell him it wasn't.


	3. Cubitum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It was good to meet you Doctor,” Holly states. Ford strangely hopes that she means it.
> 
> Ford and Holly meet for the first time (featuring wingman Wayne)

Ford knows what the spurs on Wayne’s boots sound like by now. They jingle with each bouncing step, as cheerful and jolly as Wayne himself. He’s a frequent visitor to the clinic, despite Ford’s insistence that he wait until then clinic is closed for the day. Wayne has no regard for the sanctity of his business hours. 

So Ford isn’t surprised when he hears the jolly jingle of those spurs approach his clinic a little after 1100. He could set his watch by Wayne’s visits.

But Ford _is_ surprised when he hears another set of footsteps, crunching in the chipped, white gravel outside the clinic. His surprise is short lived as he remembers who exactly he's friends with. It is probably one of Wayne’s admirers, following the post man around again. 

Scowling, Ford continues to scribble on his chalkboard, writing down ideas for medicines yet conceived. He has no interest in entertaining any of Wayne’s fangirls either. He has work to do. 

The glass door swings open with a pleasant jingle. Ford turns around and opens his mouth to tell his friend to go away and that he’s busy.

The words catch on his tongue. 

There’s a young girl stepping through the threshold of his clinic that Ford doesn’t recognise. She looks to be about Wayne’s age, possibly younger, with braided blonde hair jammed under a straw hat that had seen better days. There’s mud on her boots and a beaten up basket under her arm filled with indiscriminate seed packets, suggesting that she was a farmer hand of some sort.

She looks around, taking in his clinic inquisitively before her bright blue gaze lands on him. The girl smiles, albeit awkwardly and Ford mouth twitches in response – not quite a smile but not a frown either.  

Wayne follows her through, shutting the door behind him. Ford immediately breaks eye contact as his friend calls: “Ford, you in?”

“Yes but I am in the middle of brainstorming right now,” he replies dismissively, but he can still feel the girl’s curious eyes on him still. “I am not to be disturbed unless there's a patient who requires my immediate attention.” Ford gestures to the white leather couch in the waiting area. “Wait there.”

Wayne gives the girl a look that Ford reads as apologetic. He should be sorry, bringing around another one of his fans and cluttering up the place. “Sorry. He gets this way sometimes. How 'bout we have a seat over on that sofa and wait?"

Ford finds his worn chalk again just as the young woman speaks with an accent not local to any of the surrounding towns. “I didn’t realise we were disturbing him. We could come back later,” the stranger offers.  
He has to give her credit, she had some level of self-awareness at least.

“Nah it’s fine,” Wayne replies and Ford scowls again at his presumptuousness. “He’ll be done soon. Let’s just wait.”

His visitors retreat to his waiting area and Ford does his best to regain his chain of thought.

But it is impossible.

Wayne and the stranger chatter away, not loudly, but it is enough to scatter Ford’s iron-clad focus. He picks up the stranger’s voice threaded Wayne’s warm drawl. There’s a confidence to it that is so typical of the young and inexperienced. Ford has to admit that while it is a distraction, it is not entirely unpleasant. It's a nuisance regardless.

With a sigh, Ford rounds off a drug calculation and sets the chalk piece down. It’s too noisy to focus with Wayne and the stranger chirping away in the corner like a pair of songbirds.

Ford turns away from the chalkboard and approaches his chattering guests, pulling his gloves back out from his jacket pocket.

Wayne stands up, promoting the girl to do the same. Ford tugs the gloves back on again, feeling a little more at ease with his hands covered again. "Now then. What is it?" he asks, adjusting the gloves around his wrists.

Wayne gives him that disarming smile that he thinks will work when Ford is in a prickly mood. To his credit, it often does. “Wow you’re done sooner than I expected. Congrats.”

But Ford simply folds his arms in response. He won’t be placated this time “Well, I could hardly work with you two nattering away in the corner,” he points out.

Wayne’s smile doesn’t change. “Sorry,” he replies, not sounding the least bit sorry at all. “But figured you’d like to meet Holly. She’s just moved into that farm at the Crossroads.”

Ford turns attention to the stranger. She’s pretty, he notices with unreasonable annoyance. Of course she would be pretty. Pretty young women tend to flutter around Wayne like butterflies. She’s no different. “The Crossroads?” he asks with a raised brow. “I had heard that a relative for Frank intended to farm there.”

“Yeah that’s me,” Holly says. “I’m taking it over for a while.” She gives him a respectful bow and her long plaits flop over her shoulders like shiny gold ropes. “I'm very pleased to meet you.”

Despite his annoyance, Ford allows himself a faint smile. She was certainly not one of those Wayne’s usual suspects. They were often far too enthralled by Wayne to form complete sentences. "Hm, isn't that a proper greeting.”

The girl cracks a smile. “Despite what my sister says, I wasn’t dragged up by wolves,” Holly replies. 

Ford let out a dry chuckle. “Well, that is encouraging. My name is Doctor Ford, and I am the doctor of this establishment.”

He pauses before giving her sceptical another glance. “So you are Frank's niece correct?” He wonders that he had not realised it before. They share the same shade of blue eyes – the colour of kingfisher wings.

Holly straightens up, as if he were a military officer. “Yes sir,” she replies but there’s a playful, almost teasing edge to her voice.

Wayne snorts in amusement. Ford shoots him a look of warning before glancing back to Holly. “You look like a perfectly healthy young woman, so I presume you're not here for my services?"

Holly smiles again, as if he were a trusted friend. He wasn’t sure what to make of it. “No, unless you can do something about my elbows.”

Ford’s brow wrinkles. Had he heard her correctly? “And what of your elbows?”

“They stick out, like really weird. They almost look backwards,” Holly replies, straightening out her free arm. “See.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Wayne smirks as observing something amusing. Ford does his best to ignore it as he carefully surveys her, taking in Holly’s somewhat scruffy appearance again. It made sense, given her profession, but the dried mud on the floor and grass stains on her knees still set his teeth on edge. Ford resists the urge to go and find the broom immediately.

Instead he adjusts his glasses to keep his hands from fidgeting with anxiety. “I assure you, your elbows are quite normal for a girl of your size and weight,” he states. “The rest of you seems passable as well.”

“I’ll take passable,” Holly replies, exchanging another glance with Wayne that Ford can’t seem to read.

Admittedly, it rankles him more than it should, that Wayne has made friends with this stranger already. He made it seem so easy. Ford’s words become embittered with barely concealed envy as he answers: “Allow me to make one thing clear: I have no patience for slobs or ragamuffins. If you wish to see me, come clean and properly attired.”

If he’d insulted her, Holly hid it well. She did not look as if she were terribly bothered by his remark. “Dressed and clean. I’ll keep that in mind,” she replies.

“Is that all?”

Wayne simply raises his eyebrows and Ford knows that his friend be looking to give him an patient but firm lecture later on social niceties. "Yeah, that’s all.”

His irritation defuses. “Good. I would have you stop by at some point so I can get you registered on my records. If you have any paper copies of your medical history at hand, bring them with you."

“I could stop by tomorrow if that’s okay,” Holly answers almost immediately.

Ford blinks, a little taken back by her enthusiasm. “If you wish.”

“Great. I’ll see you then,” Holly replies, genuine warmth in her voice. Other than Brad and Wayne, he didn’t know of anyone who spoke to him so fondly. Ford's lips thin as he surveys her with caution. Goodness, What a strange person this Holly was.

Wayne clears his throat and for a moment, Ford had forgotten he was even there. “Well, we should get out of your hair Ford.” Wayne touches Holly’s elbow in his typical respectful way. “Let’s leave doctor strange to his schemes yeah?”

Ford scowls at his friend but Wayne just winks, as if it were all a game to him.  “I’ll remember that next time you’re unwell and need my help. Go on then, shoo," he says, gesturing them towards the door.

The young woman gives him another bright smile that seems to warm up his entire surgery. “It was good to meet you Doctor,” Holly states. Ford strangely hopes that she means it.

As they jingle out of the door, Ford returns to his chalkboard to continue his brainstorming. The air is still outside and the window is open. Holly’s voice floats in and he can’t seem to bring himself to shut the old frame. 

“Is Doctor Ford always so... prickly or does he just not like me?”

Ever the good friend, or samaritan, Wayne defends him. “Oh don’t mind him. He gets like that sometimes. He’s a good guy honestly.”

“Good guy or not, I still think he’s wrong about my elbows. I mean look at them. They look like they’re backwards. That can’t be right.”

Years later, when his wife is out on a stock drive with their son, Ford laments how truly abrasive he was to her upon their first meeting. It twists him up to the point where he cannot focus on his latest research paper despite a looming deadline.  He can think of nothing beyond their awkward first meeting, turning it over and over again with a hyper critical mind. Ford's been lucky. Damn lucky, in fact. He knows he has.  Holly could have quite easily decided that she didn’t want to come back after he’d been so difficult with her.

Yet she'd returned the very next day, complete with her medical records. His life had become infinitely better as a result. 

He didn't deserve it. Or her. 

By the time his wife returns, Ford had worked himself into a tight little ball of anxiety that makes his steady surgeons hands shake. 

She calls for him cheerfully as the front door swings open. "Hey, we're back! You in hun?" 

Ford is on his feet immediately, his pen cast aside and his papers scattered. He doesn't care. 

Before Holly has even hung up her hat, before she’s washed away the scent of horses and saddlesoap, Ford is kissing her with enough passion to cause Terry to excuse himself with an embarrassed noise. Usually, he would reframe from such displays. That was for the privacy of their bedroom.

But today,  he’ll make an exception. He supposes he'll always make an exception for her. His arms come around his wife; securing her warm, familiar frame in an intimate embrace. 

“Wow, what’s that for?” Holly asks with flushed cheeks when he draws away. She still looks as hopelessly lovely as the day she walked into his clinic. Granted her hair is shorter now and curls freely around her face but her buttermilk tresses are still glossy, her eyes still youthful and bright. “Not that I’m complaining but you're not usually so...forward," she added, her hands finding his shoulders.

With their son rattling around in the bathroom, Ford allows his palms to slid down to the tempting little dip in her spine. “An apology.”

Holly gives him look of matrimonial warning – an expression he’s very familiar with. “Why? What have you done?”

Ford presses circles against muscles that will undoubtedly be sore and knotted from sitting in a saddle all day. “I was just recalling when we first met. I was quite... Abrasive to you.”

His wife squeezes his shoulders. “Oh Ford, that was years ago now.”

He swallows; raw, emotional vulnerability difficult even now, even after being married to her for many years. “Yes, but it occurred to me that I never apologised for it. I quite... difficult and you could have so easily decided you wanted nothing to do with me, yet you came back." 

"Have you been frettin' about this all day love?" Holly asks. She probably already knows the answer. 

"Yes," Ford answers, forcing himself to be honest with her. His wife deserves nothing less.

She stands up on her tiptoes and presses a kiss against the slope of his jawline. "I thought as much. You shouldn't worry. That was... a different you."

Ford shivers, despite the warmth of their home. How on earth he could have been so lucky to find someone as patient and understanding as Holly? "And I've trained you well since then," his wife adds, injecting her clever humour into the conversation. 

Ford allows himself a smile. It's a rough analogy but it's wholly accurate. She's made him a better man by simply loving him. "That you have. Regardless, I'm sorry."

Holly squeezes his shoulders in understanding once more before drawing away. Ford misses her touch already. "If you really want to make it up to me, you can put the kettle on. I'm desperate for a cup of coffee."

His wife's lips curl then upwards. There's warmth and sunlight he doesn't deserve in that smile. "But I still think you're wrong about the elbows."

Ford falls all over again. 


End file.
